Why?
by bugface
Summary: Sara has left Las Vegas, and she wants some answers
1. 1

Sara woke up drenched in cold sweat to the sound of her cell phone ringing. For some reason she felt and almost overwhelming sense of dread, but brushed it off as the aftermath of her nightmare. She found herself remembering exact details, knowing that it was the same dram that she had been having for some time now. Something about Las Vegas-again.  
  
Wasn't that how it always was? Try your hardest to forget something but somewhere in the back of your mind the image of it will haunt you.  
  
The dream had been the same as last night's. She had been working in Vegas, overtime no doubt, when she happened to pass the morgue. She felt compelled to enter. There was one trolley waiting within a few steps of the door. Slowly, she reached out a hand toward the top of the sheet and peeled it down a few inches. Even though every night she knew who it was going to be it still came as a shock. She gasped and dropped the sheet as Grissom's blank stare sought her face. A cold, unblinking stare, not seeing anything before it. His skin was a pasty white except for the thin trails of electric blue vein peeking through. Tears obscured her vision until everything was dark.  
  
Sara shuddered as the effects of the dream began to take their toll. She reached hesitantly towards the phone, as it if might come alive and remove the offending object from her wrist.  
  
"Sidle?" She asked uncertainly.  
  
"Hey.(sniff)"  
  
"Grissom?"  
  
A thousand scattered thoughts raced through her mind.  
  
Why was he calling her at.2:34 in the morning? And it sounded as though he were crying. Was this really Grissom? The same Grissom that refused point blank to show any emotion whatsoever?  
  
"I'm sorry, did I.wake you up? I'll ring back later?" His voice rose at  
the end of his sentence making it appear that he had asked a question.  
  
"No, you stay right there, "She replied, firm, yet not harsh enough to  
appear angry, "Where are you anyway?  
  
"Airport." He managed to choke out, before sniffing back another  
onslaught of tears.  
  
"What the hell are you doing in San Francisco?" She never waited for a reply. "I'm coming to get get you ok? 


	2. 2

Sara was barely aware of climbing into her car and starting the engine. She remembered only vaguely speeding down the roads faster then any laws in the whole of America allowed her to drive.  
  
It was only when she hurried into the airport that she realised that she had never seen Gil Grissom cry. She wondered what had made him so upset, noting for the first time that one lone tear trailed down her cheek.  
  
Scanning the crowd for the familiar face she wanted so desperately to see, thoughts zoomed around in her head, each scenario worse than the one before it.  
  
And then she saw him, standing a little away from the rest of the people, his head bowed, eyes downcast. There was no luggage in his hands, which led her to believe that the decision to visit had been made hurriedly.  
  
Sara approached Grissom warily, as though any sharp movement would startle him, and give him cause to run away. She noted with growing dismay that he had lost quite a bit of weight and his eyes held none of the sparkling recognition that she had hoped to see.  
  
Instead, he gave a watery smile, and dropped his head once more as his eyes filled with tears.  
  
She rushed towards him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him closer. He buried his head in her hair, clinging onto her as if she was his life support.  
  
Gradually, she pulled away. She leant forward to place a kiss on his cheek. He stiffened, and she instantly realised her mistake.  
  
"Let's get you home, ok?"  
  
He nodded glumly, still not meeting her eyes.  
  
Sara took the chance to intertwine their fingers, which she noted where cold, and led him toward her car. 


	3. 3

The ride to Sara's rental apartment was relatively quiet, except for the occasional sniffle coming from Grissom's direction. He sat stiffly upright in his seat, staring through the side window, so Sara couldn't see his expression. She stole glances at him as she drove, taking in the change of his appearance from the last time that she had seen him.  
  
She realised with a sudden jolt that had been over three months ago.  
  
His cheeks were damp and blotchy, evidence of his recent crying, whereas in the past, his eyes had seldom shown any indication of what was going on in that mind of his. He chewed slightly on his bottom lip.  
  
Those lips.  
  
Stop it Sara! She scolded herself for thinking such things while he was so obviously in need of a friend. She wondered bitterly why he couldn't have gone running to Catherine again.  
  
Catherine. The word sounded poisonous even in her head.  
  
She must have said something aloud, because Grissom turned to her. She gasped. His usually heavily guarded orbs were now filled with more emotion than she dared to read into. A mixture of misery, remorse and.what was it? Guilt?  
  
Sara could count on one hand the times she had seen him this upset. Hell, she could count on one finger! She fought to keep her concentration on the road spread out in front of her; but, her mind kept wandering though dozens of reasons why he should come all the way to San Francisco, after all this time, after all this grief.  
  
Finally, they pulled up outside her apartment block. Sara quickly moved to his side of the car, and opened the door for him. She helped him out of his seat and escorted him into the building. 


	4. 4

As soon as they entered Sara's small apartment, the air became stuffy with tension.  
  
"Urm...would you like something to drink?" Sara asked uncertainly, not sure what to say.  
  
Grissom shook his head firmly, as if the very idea of liquid repulsed him. He chewed on his lip. What should he tell her? He was sure that once he started, the whole story would pour out like a waterfall, and he didn't want her to know every little detail. Or did he? Maybe he should have just e-mailed her or something. Even in his head, that had sounded impersonal and cold.  
  
"Well I'm gonna make some coffee anyway, okay?"  
  
Sara's voice knocked him back to reality with a jolt. How long had she been standing there, watching him?  
  
"Yeah, okay." He murmured, oblivious to the fact that his voice was barely audible.  
  
Half an hour later found the pair sitting stiffly, one on each end of the uncomfortable couch. Sara wasn't sure if his tears were a warning of 'stay back' or 'come and ask me what's wrong'. She opted for the second.  
  
"Come here," She said softly, not making actual eye contact unless that scared him off.  
  
For a moment there was absolute silence, and then gradually, like a butterfly braking from its cocoon, he slid over to the space beside her. Sara took one of his hands that was lying on the couch face up, and held it in two of hers.  
  
"You wanna talk about it?" She asked gently.  
  
Grissom stayed silent, contemplating whether or not to do as he had planned before leaving Las Vegas. After a few minutes careful thought, he began.  
  
"It's Catherine...she..."At this Sara stood up, and began to pace the room.  
  
"I'm not sure I want to hear this, Griss..." As she walked past the couch again, Grissom grabbed her arm.  
  
"No, she's...she was at a crime scene...the perp came back..." Grissom took a deep breath, "She never felt a thing..." He trailed off as a sob caught in his throat causing him to hiccup as yet another tear fell from his eyes.  
  
Sara stared at him in shock.  
  
He had come all the way from Vegas to tell her that Catherine was dead?  
  
Shit.  
  
And here she was bullying him for not showing her any attention; like it was his fault he didn't feel attracted to her.  
  
Her inner turmoil continued to rage on as she pulled him into a tight embrace.  
  
He cried silently into her shoulder, as she held onto him tightly, staring numbly past him into nothingness.  
  
N/a Thanks for your support in the previous chapters; sorry I made you wait you wait so long for this long. My damn internet has been down for about two weeks, and I don't know know what the hell was wrong with it, but hey, it's back now.  
  
Anyway, please review this chapter! Your response makes my muse happy! 


	5. 5

Chapter 5  
  
Brass slowly made his way towards the help desk.  
  
"Hello..." He looked quickly at her nametag, "Cindy, can you tell me what room Nick Stokes is in?"  
  
"Are you family?" She said, smiling. He wanted to knock the smile of that face, but he quickly collected himself, and flashed his police issued badge.  
  
Her smile faltered for a second. "Through the double doors, room 213."  
  
"Thank you," he growled, not looking at all like he meant it.  
  
Nick lay on his uncomfortable bed, not daring to move in case he ruptured a stitch. That had been extremely painful the first time, and he didn't want to repeat the experience. He stared straight ahead, unseeing, at the ceiling. There were sixty-two rectangular tiles up there, each bordered with a thin green line all the way round. Once or twice his eyes slid out of focus and he noted with some interest that the ceiling jumped down towards him, only to bounce back up again. He would have laughed if he thought it was funny.  
  
A dull knocking pierced the somewhat tranquil atmosphere that he had been beginning to get used to. He tried to turn his head, but found that any movement at all caused him to wince as a shooting pain fired through his upper chest.  
  
"'Ome In," he groaned, hoping that whoever it was behind the door could hear him. He figured it was a visitor, as many nurses came to pump him full of medication, without stopping long enough to ask if it was all right with him. He wondered who it could be. Since Catherine's...death, he had been seen by two nosy police officers that refused to let him rest, Warrick, Brass and Catherine's mother. The last visit had been a painful and uncomfortable encounter, what with the old woman reflecting on nearly every tiny thing that Catherine had ever done, then promptly bursting into floods of tears and exiting the room without a second glance.  
  
Brass' voice broke through his silent reverie, coaxing him back to consciousness.  
  
"Nicky?" He asked quietly. He waited until the younger man's attention was focussed, and then continued. "There's been some more evidence on the case, I need to ask you a few more questions...Nicky?"  
  
As soon as Brass had uttered the word 'questions' Nick had groaned and closed his eyes again. New evidence should have been a good thing, but he was really not in a good mood, and answering questions about the worst night of his life was definitely not favourable.  
  
"G'way, I hate quest'ns." He tried to turn his head away, but cried out in pain as his muscles protested his sudden move.  
  
"Come on, I know it's hard..."  
  
"Y'know nothin'" He insisted, "An' I'm gonna tell y'everythin' so y'can get the bastar'." Any emphasis of the sentence was lost to his weak voice, making the words themselves barely audible.  
  
"Thank you, Nicky, can you tell me again what happened that night..." Nick tried to interrupt, but Brass went right on talking, "I know that you don't want to, I know, I do."  
  
"It was rainin'," He began slowly, as if processing each word in order to be sure what he was saying made sense, "We got to the see..." He cleared his throat, "...scene, and walked round the back of the house."  
  
Brass nodded encouragingly and scribbled something down on his paper. For a moment Nick looked puzzled, before he continued to talk.  
  
"Catherine kept complaining that something din't add up, she kept sayin' somethin' was wrong..." A single tear ran down one side of his face, while he made no effort to wipe it off, "She's got a kid, Jim..."  
  
Brass was struggling to control his own emotions. Warrick had told him to be strong, and he had known Nick an awful lot longer than the older man.  
  
"I know, Nick, Lindsey will be fine, OK? You hear me, we'll make sure she's safe."  
  
Finally, Nick sighed and wiped his face. "I know, it just..." He shook his head hopelessly, "...I just can't help thinking that it should have been me." 


End file.
